


A Number On My Heart

by cuttooth



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (Archives Team - Assemble!), Communication, Did I mention softness?, M/M, So Much Softness, Softness, Spoiler MAG 134, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 07:55:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18517189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttooth/pseuds/cuttooth
Summary: “Trouble in paradise?” Melanie asks, cocking an eyebrow. Jon feels his face going hot, much to his annoyance.“That’s none of your business,” he snaps, “Even if there was - ”He breaks off, because there isn’t. There’s nothing going on, the way Melanie’s suggesting, nothing for him to be embarrassed or indignant about. Nothing for him to feel an ache in his chest thinking about.*Martin comes back to the Archives. Jon gets to know him all over again.





	A Number On My Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [julie4697](https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie4697/gifts).



> Well I've been promising myself to write some fluff, so here it is. This one's for the wonderful [julie4697](https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie4697/pseuds/julie4697) / [@agnesmontague](http://agnesmontague.tumblr.com/), who blessed me with the idea of Jon developing an honest to god crush on the newly confident Martin Blackwood we've been gifted with this season. Original ficlet [here](https://cuttoothed.tumblr.com/post/184116074205/protectmartinblackwood). Who'd've thought it would turn into 7k words of softness? Not me, that's for sure.
> 
> This essentially ignores any implications of MAG 135, because I've been writing this for a week and I couldn't be bothered to incorporate new canon.
> 
> Title from "Careful You" by TV On The Radio, which is the softest Jon/Martin song I know.

_You’ve done a number on my heart_  
_And things will never be the same_  
TV On The Radio - Careful You

His first day back, Martin walks in with a large box tucked under his arm and a guarded expression on his face. Jon resists the urge to go over there immediately, because he knows Martin wouldn’t appreciate him making a fuss. Instead he continues reading the case report in front of him, or at least pretending to.

“Morning, Martin,” he hears Melanie say from the other room, all exaggerated nonchalance.

“Hi, Melanie,” Martin replies, and there is something thankful in his voice. Jon glances up as Melanie sweeps past Martin’s desk towards the stacks, not lingering or asking questions, acting as if everything is completely normal. It isn’t, of course. But acting like it’s normal is sometimes the only thing they have. 

Jon continues watching from his office as Martin begins to empty the box. Not staring or anything, he’s just - keeping an eye. They left Martin’s desk empty, while he was gone, and it doesn’t take long for him to resettle his belongings. Files and notepads, mostly. A desk tidy jammed with pens and highlighters. Sticky tape and scissors. Daisy comes down the stairs while he’s unpacking, and nods as she walks past.

“Welcome back,” she says matter-of-factly, and Martin looks surprised.

“Oh, uh, thanks, Daisy.”

Finally Jon decides he’s waited long enough to not seem pushy. He walks over, mug in hand so he at least has some pretense of going to the kitchen. Martin looks up as he approaches, and gives a small smile.

“Are you getting settled all right?” Jon asks.

“Fine, thanks,” says Martin. “Not much settling to do, really. Umm, someone kept my spider plant alive?”

“Oh, yes, I, uh, I hope I didn’t over water it?”

“Oh!” says Martin, “No, no, it looks healthy. Thanks, Jon.”

Jon nods stiffly, and Martin takes another bundle of files out of the box. This feels awkward. It shouldn’t be, because Martin’s back and it’s _good,_ but he seems tense, like he’s uncertain of his welcome. Jon understands. It’s difficult, coming back.

“Look, Martin,” he says in a low voice, stepping closer. “If you want to take a few more days, no one would - ”

“No!” Martin interrupts sharply. “No, I’m ready to get back to work. I - it’s better if I do. Thanks, but - no.”

“Of course,” says Jon. “There are a couple of things I could use your help on, when you’re ready.”

Martin gives him a grateful look. Takes the last few papers out of the box, and sets it on the floor under the desk.

“I’ll come to your office in a bit.”

“Right,” Jon says. Starts to walk away, and then hesitates. “We’re all glad you’re back, Martin.”

The expression on Martin’s face is somewhere between stricken and hopeful.

“Thanks, Jon,” he says. “It’s - it’s just weird, coming back after - everything.”

“If anyone’s going to understand, it’s us,” Jon tells him. “The Magnus Archives: you don’t have to be the unwilling avatar of a fear entity to work here, but it helps.”

“I think you do have to, actually,” Martin says, but he’s smiling. That’s good.

“Well in any case, you know where I am, if you ever want to talk.”

“I think I still remember,” says Martin, and the smile lingers on his face.

*

It’s a relief, having Martin back. More than a relief. The Archives didn’t feel the same in his absence, and part of that was the oppressive presence of the Lonely, but a large part of it was just - Martin. Being gone. His cheer and unwavering optimism, the way he was always watching out for everyone. Even with everything else going on, his absence was the thing that hurt most. Startlingly so.

It takes time, for things to return to some semblance of normalcy. It’s to be expected. Peter Lukas’ presence left a long shadow over the Institute, and though the man himself is gone, the damage he did will take time to heal. His attempt to build a ritual at the heart of the Beholding has left odd pockets of isolation around the Institute, places where the air is dead and silent, where you feel you’ll never see another person again. His attempt to create an avatar has left Martin quieter, something wounded and distant in his eyes. 

It’s getting better, though. Martin is still himself, kind and optimistic, and having him back makes the Archives feel right again. Makes Jon feel right again. Each morning he hears from his office when Martin arrives, hears him greeting whoever’s in, and is comforted by the familiarity of it. By the continuing reminder that Martin is _here._

They’re busier than ever these days. The Lonely is gone, but the emerging threat of Extinction is hanging over their heads, and Jon scarcely knows where to start. He’s learned better than trying to do it alone, though. Instead he calls everyone together, and they sit around the biggest table in the Archives and lay out their options. Martin starts by setting a thin sheaf of papers down on the table.

“This is everything Peter gave me on Adelard Dekker’s new fear,” he says. “It’s - not a lot.”

“I’ve found a few more of Dekker’s letters to Gertrude,” Jon says, setting them down. “They, uh, brought themselves to my attention.” He doesn’t specify that he found a couple of them unsubtly lashed to his chair with spider thread; it doesn’t really seem to matter these days which fear is feeding him the information.

“Extinction,” Melanie muses, flipping through the statements. “Sounds like the realm of doomsday cults and those American prepper types.” Nobody mentions the yellow door standing in the wall just over her shoulder, though everyone is very aware of it.

“Not just Americans,” Daisy says. “You get them in the UK too. Out in the country, mostly.” She looks less than comfortable, hunched in a chair with her arms folded defensively. Basira’s away again, doing something they’re not supposed to know about, and Daisy’s never quite all right when she’s gone.

“That sounds like a place to start,” says Jon. “We look for any statements related to doomsday survivalists or eschatological sects.”

“Sure,” Melanie shrugs. “I can start digging. It might take a while, though, the way this place is organized. Or not, as the case may be.”

“I’ll help you,” says Martin, “There’s a bit of method to the madness, when you get used to it.”

“What we really need is to find Dekker himself,” Jon says. “Daisy, I don’t suppose you have any police contacts who could help us out?”

“Not sure,” she says quietly. “Could ask Basira when she gets back.”

“Oh, right,” says Jon, “It’s just, uh - do you know when she’s coming back?”

“Jon,” Martin says, low and warning. He gives Jon a meaningful glance, and Jon looks at Daisy, who’s shrunk further into her chair, arms wrapped around herself, looking like she wishes she wasn’t there.

“Ah, never mind,” he says. “It can wait. We have plenty to get started with.”

They get started. Progress is frustratingly slow, but it feels good, to work towards something. Melanie finds a statement from a former Aum Shinrikyo member, plagued by horrifying visions of the world’s end. Martin digs up history on the Fifth Monarchist and Joachimite movements, writings on the Kali Yuga. They investigate the Voluntary Human Extinction project, theories of the technological apocalypse. Jon re-reads the statement of Tessa Winters with a growing sense of eerie familiarity. It makes sense now, he thinks.

He throws himself into the work with fierce urgency. He needs to know, to _understand._ They need to be able to stop this before it’s too late. It’s safe enough these days for them to leave the Institute - to go home, even - but Jon mostly doesn’t bother. Most of his clothes are here, anyway, and the camp bed is comfortable enough.

He’s buried deep in a history of posthumanism one day when a knock comes on his open door. Jon looks up and sees Martin standing there, looking resolute. It’s an expression that Martin’s been wearing far more frequently since he returned, usually when he thinks Jon is entirely wrong about something and is about to argue the point.

“Did you need something, Martin?” he asks. Martin looks him up and down skeptically.

“You were sitting there when I left last night,” he says. “And you were there when I got in this morning. _And_ I’m fairly sure you’re wearing the same shirt. Have you even left your office since yesterday?”

“I - of course I have. I don’t _sleep_ here.” He sleeps in the side room, and he did make it there for a few hours last night. He’s not sure he changed his shirt, though. Martin might be right about that.

“Mm-hmm?” Martin says impatiently. Then: “It’s time to take a break, Jon. You’ll do no one any good if you work yourself into exhaustion. I know you haven’t had lunch yet, so come on, we’re going.”

Jon opens his mouth to protest that he’s _fine,_ honestly, and he’s right in the middle of something important. Except, a voice in the back of his head tells him, Martin is right. Jon’s been trying to get better at taking advice from the people around him, and for Martin to come in here with that determined expression on his face means he thinks this is important enough to fight Jon over. And if Jon’s honest, he can’t rely on his body to tell him when he needs to eat, so he should probably accept Martin’s opinion on the matter.

“All right,” he concedes. “But just for an hour.”

“That’s fine,” Martin tells him. “The end of the world will still be here when you get back.”

They sit down the street at a small café, where Martin’s dragged Jon a couple of times in the past. Long ago, now, before - well, just before. Back then, Jon had been irritated by what he considered Martin fussing over him, had gone along with it as the only way to get a modicum of peace from the man. Things are different now. Jon’s been learning how to not treat people caring about him as merely inconvenient or suspect. Learning how to care about people himself, how to appreciate having them around. And Martin -

Martin’s changed entirely, without somehow changing at all. He’s still the same person he’s always been, gentle and good hearted. And he’s always had a stubborn core, though in the past it’s shown through only sparingly. But it seems like so much of his uncertainty has been stripped away, like he’s lost his fear of inadequacy and what other people will think of him. He’s had no choice, with everything he’s been through, and Jon feels guilty about that, as he does about everything that’s happened in the past four years. But Martin’s come through it all, stronger than he was before, that steely core now all on show.

Martin speaks up a lot more than he used to, voices his opinion like he knows its value. Argues when he thinks Jon is wrong about things. He’s lost his hesitance, but none of his kindness, and Jon finds it admirable. Finds Martin admirable.

“So did you manage to contact that biblical professor you were looking for?” Jon asks once they’ve ordered. “What was the name again - ”

“Adekoya,” Martin says, “Not yet. She’s on holiday, apparently. I’ll try again next week.”

“Right,” says Jon, and takes a sip of water. Martin glances at him, a line creasing between his eyebrows, then looks away again. Huffs slightly, seeming to make a decision.

“Are you all right, Jon?” he asks. “You’ve hardly left the Archives in weeks, and you’re working yourself to the bone on this fifteenth power. I _know_ it’s important, but it’s not healthy.”

“I - I’m fine,” Jon says, startled. “I just - this isn’t just _important,_ Martin. It’s the end of everything, potentially. At least with the rituals there’s - precedent. Clues to stop them. But _this,_ it’s incomprehensible. If we could only find Dekker, _talk_ to him - ”

“No word from Basira yet?”

“Nothing. It worries me. Not just for her. For Daisy too.”

Martin nods thoughtfully.

“I’ve been talking to Daisy, a bit,” he says. “She’s a lot stronger than she realizes, even without being a - a hunter, or whatever. She’ll be okay.”

“What about you, Martin?” Jon asks.

“Me?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah - yeah, I’m fine,” Martin gives him a worn sort of smile. “It’s still a bit weird, being back at the Archives. I - forget, every so often. Keep expecting to see Peter when I turn around. Some nights if I wake up and there’s no traffic outside, I think I’m back there, in the Lonely. It’s - it’s not great. But I’m okay.”  

“That could be our motto, couldn’t it?” Jon says, feeling his mouth twist up into a wry smile. Martin gives a soft laugh, his face lighting up with it. His eyes meet Jon’s, warm and brown, and something flutters low in Jon’s stomach. He takes another drink of water. He must be hungrier than he realized.

*

Basira returns, and heads for Elias’ office with only a perfunctory greeting to the rest of them. She stays in there for hours, and when she comes back downstairs she’s stoic, deflecting their questions with non-answers or pointed silence. Daisy hovers on her periphery like a ghost, like she’s uncertain whether to even approach. They leave together at the end of the day, so it must be all right, but Jon still feels uneasy.

Uneasy enough to knock on the door of Elias’ office. He’s been keeping as much distance as he can since Elias returned, smug and grandiose in reclaiming his position. As far as Jon is concerned, Elias’ return was a small price to pay, to rid them of Peter Lukas and get Martin back. However he’s not entirely sure Elias didn’t set the whole thing up, risk the entire world being lost to Isolation on a gambit to force Jon’s _growth,_ as he likes to call it. In any case Jon would rather not be around him, and it seems Elias has accepted that for now. Has been leaving Jon alone, but Jon now realizes that’s to Basira’s detriment. And that is not acceptable.

“Come in, Jon,” Elias’ muffled voice comes as soon as he knocks. Jon walks inside, and Elias gives a cool smirk.

“Do sit down,” he suggests. Jon stays standing, and Elias raises an amused eyebrow. “Suit yourself. What can I do for you, Jon?”

“What are you doing with Basira?” Jon asks bluntly, letting the compulsion flow like oil off his tongue. A visible shudder runs through Elias’ body, and his jaw twitches minutely, but he composes himself almost immediately.

“You’re getting better at that,” he says, his tone pleased. “However I’m not sure it’s any of your business what Basira and I are working on. You can rest assured none of it is to the detriment of you or your staff.”

“Leave her alone,” Jon tells him. “If you need someone to help you with - whatever it is, talk to me. Leave the others out of it.”

Elias gives a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“Honestly, Jon. Your arrogance never ceases to amaze. It may shock you to discover that not everything is about you. The things Basira is helping me with are well outside your - sphere of expertise. And I’ve never forced her hand. You should know, Jon. I’ve always encouraged you to make your own choices, and Basira is doing the same.”

It’s not long before Basira leaves again, her lips pressed tight and her expression closed off. Jon feels angry at Elias, and at himself. Helpless and useless. He wishes there was anything he could do, for her sake and for Daisy’s, but there isn’t. Not without breaking any remaining trust Basira might have in him, and if he does that she might not come back to the Archives at all.

He’s sitting in the stacks one day, legs crossed and eyes closed, waiting for inspiration to strike when he hears voices talking nearby. Jon’s eyes startle open, and he considers whether he should try to move away quietly, but he thinks that would just make things worse.

“ - couldn’t even ask her about Dekker,” he hears Daisy say, low and distressed. “She’d think I’m weak. Soft.”

“She wouldn’t think that, Daisy,” Martin’s voice comes, his tone reassuring. Jon is glad Daisy’s talking to him. Martin’s good with people, offers care and kindness with an ease that is astounding to Jon. It’s not something he’s ever been much good at himself.

“She would, and she’d be right. I shouldn’t need her help with something like this. Should be able to chase him down myself. But I _can’t,_ every time I think about even going looking, it’s like _teeth_ tearing into me. Out of me. And I know if I let myself go, I’ll just - _hunt.”_

“You should tell her,” says Martin. “She’ll understand. What you’ve been through - people weren’t meant to survive that. The very fact that you did means you’re not weak.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m strong, though. And Basira - she feels like she needs to keep me safe. Keep everyone safe. She won’t even tell me anything she’s doing. I’ve asked, and she just - makes excuses.”

Jon hears something halfway between a laugh and a sigh. Martin. Feels a low pang at the sound, quiet and resigned as it is.

“I get it,” Martin says. “It’s hard, loving someone so stubborn. It’s - really hard, sometimes. But you can’t give up on them. On her. You just need to talk to her.”

“Sounds like you should take your own advice,” Daisy mutters low, and Martin laughs again.

“I’m the one giving the advice,” he says, “So I don’t have to take it.”

Jon waits quietly until they leave, and wonders about the hollow ache that lingers in his chest for hours afterwards.

*

They keep working, and any real insight keeps eluding them, despite their best efforts and the cobwebbed cassette tapes Jon keeps finding. He wishes the Web would just come out with it, whatever it wants, but he supposes that’s rather antithetical to how it works. He takes the information, but doesn’t trust that any of it is for his good.

He and Martin have somehow ended up eating lunch together every day, and that’s become by far the most pleasant part of his routine. At first Martin is the one coming to his office to remind him he needs to eat and breathe air occasionally, but after a while Jon starts to anticipate it. Finds himself grabbing his jacket at quarter to two and walking out to Martin’s desk to fetch him. It’s late for lunch by most people’s standards, but that suits Jon. He prefers to avoid the rush, the clamor of crowds.

They go to the same café, usually, because Jon doesn’t have the most exciting palate and he appreciates the consistency. Martin orders whatever the special is and Jon gets a sandwich, or on days when food is particularly unappealing, some wholemeal toast that he eats dry. And they talk. Rarely about anything consequential, because Jon has been making a conscious effort not to discuss work too much when they’re supposed to be taking a break.

It’s surprisingly easy, talking to Martin, especially now that he’s no longer afraid of saying something wrong. Martin asks about Jon’s university days, which he’s apparently already heard about from Georgie, while Jon was in the hospital. It is sort of surreal to Jon, to think of Georgie and Martin talking, those two parts of his life coming together. But not, he thinks, in a bad way. Martin speaks more freely now than he ever has, cracks jokes and even laughs when Jon makes some gallows humor remark. Tells Jon about incidents from school or his early days at the Institute. Talks about poetry with an enthusiasm that’s infectious, his eyes lighting up and his hands sketching the air.

“I’m back writing again,” Martin tells him one day. “It’s good, I think. Not the poems - I mean, those are, well, whatever, but there was a long time I couldn’t write at all. My mind was just blank whenever I tried. It’s - I think it means things are getting better.”

He smiles when he says it, and Jon finds himself returning it, the expression mirroring on his own face without conscious effort. Martin smiles at him a lot. Maybe he always did, and Jon just never noticed. Jon finds himself noticing a lot about Martin, these days. The warmth of Martin’s smile, how right it looks on his face, open and kind. The curious tilt of his head when he’s truly, entirely interested in something. The way freckles bloom across his nose and cheeks as soon as London gets a few days of sunshine, and Jon wants to tell him to be careful of sun exposure, but doesn’t want to explain how he noticed.  

It’s not all good, of course. Some days Jon is frustrated and snappish, picking at the food on his plate and unable to keep his mind off the latest horrors he’s been learning about. Some days Martin is withdrawn and preoccupied, as if he’s lapsed back into the gray fog that had almost consumed him. Jon worries, those days, and tries to pretend nothing’s wrong, talks to Martin as if they were having an entirely normal conversation, even when Martin doesn’t respond. He thinks that it helps, and Martin always comes back to himself after a while. Once Martin spends three days in a funk, and by the third lunchtime Jon is so worried he can’t pretend anymore.

“Martin,” he says, leaning forward over his sandwich. “Would you just talk to me? Please?"

Martin looks up at him briefly and flashes a weary smile, before looking back down at the lasagna he’s pushing around his plate.

“Sorry, Jon,” he says. “I’m all right, honestly, I just - ”

He pauses, as if struggling to find the words, and Jon forces himself to sit silently and wait for Martin to get there. After a few moments he gives a soft sigh.

“I’m - embarrassed, I suppose. And angry. At Peter, but mostly at myself.”

“What on earth for?”

“Because I _believed_ him. Peter never knew any more about the Extinction than anyone else, he was just using me. Just spinning out a line of - of _bullshit_ to get me to go along with what he wanted.”

Martin’s cheeks go pink when he swears, and Jon files that quickly away under _things he’s noticed about Martin,_ because now isn’t the time to consider it.

“It wasn’t your fault, Martin. You thought it was your only option.”

“I _wanted_ to think that. I wanted to think I could save everyone, and if I was going to sacrifice myself to do it, well that was even better. After my mum and Tim and - and you, I - well, let’s just say that the thought of not feeling anything was pretty appealing.”

Jon doesn’t know what to say to that, feels breathless at Martin’s words, _after you, the thought of not feeling anything was pretty appealing._ He remembers Basira telling him that Martin had taken it badly, when he was gone, but he never thought -

“It turns out it was all pointless anyway,” Martin continues, his tone bitter. “Because Peter never cared about the Extinction, and the only reason the Archives were under threat in the first place was because all the powers knew he was trying his ritual at the Institute. And I helped him. I knew he was lying to me, not about _what,_ but I knew he was lying, trying to manipulate me, and I still went along with it.”

“You were doing the best you could under impossible circumstances,” Jon says firmly. He leans forward again. Martin is still looking down at his plate, so Jon touches his arm, just a brief press of fingers above the wrist, just enough that Martin looks up at him. His eyes when they meet Jon’s are pained and guilty, and Jon feels something ache inside him.

“Peter Lukas is a _monster,”_ says Jon. “A very old monster, if it’s the same Peter Lukas in all the statements. He put you in a situation where there was no way to win, and used the fact that you care about people against you. That’s what monsters like him do.”

Martin’s expression is still miserable and guilt-ridden, and Jon thinks of what he overheard him tell Daisy. _People weren’t meant to survive that._

“We’re all in the same situation, Martin. Caught between a rock and a hard place. We’re trying to deal with things that - that people shouldn’t even be able to conceive of, never mind live through. I wish I’d been there, to help you. I wish you never had to make those choices. But you did more than anyone should ever have had to, and you _survived._ That in itself is - it’s amazing.”

Martin glances away for a moment, and when he looks back his eyes are a little clearer, his expression firm.

“You know it wasn’t your fault either, don’t you?” he says, quiet but determined. Jon hesitates, because it very clearly _was_ his fault, if he’d just been there none of this would have happened.

“I - ” he begins, then stalls, and Martin gives a soft huff of annoyance.

“You were in a _coma,_ Jon. A spooky coma. And I’m fairly sure you can’t be blamed for what happens while you’re in a spooky coma. I think it’s a law or something.”

Jon can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him at that. Martin ducks his head, but a sly grin is tugging at the corners of his mouth, and Jon feels something curling warm in his stomach, swooping like birds’ wings against the cage of his ribs. He’s been feeling it an awful lot lately.

*

Jon is working late one evening when Daisy knocks on his door. Late enough that even Martin’s already left, after telling Jon not to work too much longer. And he won’t, honestly, because Martin always seems to know and Jon doesn’t want to worry him. Gets an odd little twinge in his chest whenever Martin pops in to say goodnight, which he can only assume is guilt for causing Martin concern.

Daisy standing at his door comes as a surprise, because Martin’s usually the last to leave, and because Daisy rarely seeks him out. She’s been helping Melanie and Martin with the research, but she’s seemed a little wary of him, as if she’s afraid he’s going to ask her about doing field work. He won’t, of course, much as they could use her expertise. It wouldn’t be right.

“Daisy,” he says in greeting. “You’re here late.”

“I wanted to have a word,” she says, “Without everyone else around.”

“Right, well - pull up a chair.”

Daisy doesn’t, stands in the middle of the room with her arms at her sides. Her left hand is clenching rhythmically against her thigh, as if she’s nervous. As if she’s about to do something she’d rather not. Her expression is determined.

“You’re still looking for that Dekker guy, right?”

“Oh - yes, we are,” Jon says, surprised. “I, uh, did ask Basira about it when she was back. She said she’d look into it when she got a chance.”

“That means she won’t,” Daisy tells him. “It’s what she always says to people who she thinks are ‘wasting police time’.”

“Ah,” says Jon, and honestly he had rather suspected. He knows Elias doesn’t take the Extinction seriously as a threat. Wonders what he’s been saying to Basira about it.

“I could - I have something I could try,” Daisy says. “It’ll take a few days, maybe.”

“What kind of thing?” Jon asks, because this sounds a lot like Daisy going hunting.

“Nothing dangerous,” she says, and won’t meet his eyes. Jon sighs.

“Right,” he says. “I - don’t think that’s a good idea. Thank you for offering Daisy, really, but it’s probably best if you stay on the research.”

“Isn’t this important?” Daisy asks.

“It is,” Jon tells her. “But not important enough for you to jeopardize yourself. You’re - you’re more important than us finding Dekker.”

Daisy nods, and turns to leave, then hesitates.

“You know you’re important too?” she says. “Martin worries about you.”

“Martin worries about everyone,” Jon says, though he feels a fond smile tugging at his mouth as he says it. Daisy frowns.

“He worries more about you, though. You should take better care of yourself, for his sake if nothing else.”

“I - thank you, Daisy,” says Jon. She shrugs.

“Just trying to help a friend,” she says, and Jon has no idea if she means him or Martin.

The next morning Martin barges into his office without knocking and waves a sheet of paper in his face.

“Jon,” he says tersely, “What did you say to Daisy?”

“What do you mean, what did I say to Daisy?”

“I mean that I found this note on my desk when I came in,” Martin tells him, handing it to him. Jon glances over it rapidly. It’s in Daisy’s handwriting, saying that she’s gone to find out about Dekker, and she’ll be back soon. That she talked to Jon and she understands what’s important, and not to worry. She hasn’t given up.

“I - I told her _not_ to go,” Jon says, aghast.

“Do you know where she’s gone?” Martin asks, a concerned crease between his eyebrows. Jon shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “She didn’t tell me, and I thought - I said it wasn’t worth it, to risk herself.”

“Apparently she thinks it is,” says Martin, his tone distressed. Jon knows how he feels. Daisy’s been trying so hard, since she came back. Keeping herself away from any possible influence of the Hunt. And now, to go off by herself chasing down Adelard Dekker - he can’t imagine a worse scenario for her.

“I’m sorry, Martin,” he says, “I should have made sure. I - I could find her?”

“No,” Martin says sharply, shaking his head. “She wouldn’t want that. It was her decision, and we just have to trust she knows what she’s doing.”

“Right,” says Jon. “Of course. I’m sure she does.”

Martin sighs, and folds up the piece of paper again.

“Look, Jon, do you mind if we skip lunch today? I’m not sure I’d be very good company.”

“No, of course not,” says Jon, ignoring the pang of disappointment that he feels. Martin gives him a weak smile before he leaves.

A few hours later he’s searching through a horribly disorganized shelf, when a yellow door opens in the wall beside him and Melanie walks through. She squints at him, then glances at her watch.

“Shouldn’t you be at lunch?”

“I - what?”

“You and Martin always go for lunch around now, don’t you?”

“I mean, sometimes,” Jon says. “Not today.” He feels a little like he’s being accused of something.

“Trouble in paradise?” Melanie asks, cocking an eyebrow. Jon feels his face going hot, much to his annoyance.

“That’s none of your business,” he snaps, “Even if there _was_ \- ”

He breaks off, because there _isn’t_. There’s nothing going on, the way Melanie’s suggesting, nothing for him to be embarrassed or indignant about. Nothing for him to feel an ache in his chest thinking about. Melanie shrugs.

“Sorry,” she says in a tone that suggests she isn’t, really. “I just assumed, the way the two of you are together. I mean it used to be just _him_ that acted like a lovesick puppy.”

Jon’s face goes even hotter, the flush spreading down his neck and his pulse pounding in his ears. Because he’s heard the tapes, the _office gossip,_ and he knows Martin - _cares_ about him. But it’s not like that, not at all, it’s stupid to even consider. Even if Jon’s been thinking a lot about Martin’s smile, and the sun-dusted freckles across his nose. Even if seeing Martin is the thing he most anticipates every day. Even if the way Martin looks at him, warm and fond, sometimes stops his breath in his throat. 

“It’s, ah - ” He steadies himself. “There’s nothing going on, Melanie.”

“Like you said, none of my business,” says Melanie with a shrug, and continues on her way. The yellow door is gone.

That conversation is all Jon can think about for the next few days. He’s worried about Daisy of course, and the Extinction is still their most pressing concern, but his work has gone all to hell, because he can’t stop his mind drifting back to what Melanie said.

These last few weeks, it’s felt like he’s getting to know Martin - the _real_ Martin - for the first time. Martin without the fear of being exposed or rejected, sure in his own capabilities, confident enough to care freely and openly for the people around him. When Jon lets himself think about it, he can admit that the Martin he’s got to know is someone he likes very much. Someone he, well, finds very attractive.

He knows he’s got no right, because he spent years pushing Martin away. Not really knowing him - not _wanting_ to, because knowing people, caring about people, was too much like weakness. He was unkind to Martin, in his own head and out of it, and it’s just another of those things that Jon gets to feel guilty about. No apology will change that. He didn’t realize how important Martin was until he was gone, except Martin came _back,_ Martin’s _here,_ and it can’t help feeling a little like a second chance.

It’s probably ridiculous, to think of everything that’s happened to them and consider it any kind of chance. But then, with everything that’s happened to them, how can this be anything other than a chance? An opportunity to maybe grasp a little hope in this world. And Jon’s learned better than to not take any chance he’s given.

The question is, what’s he going to do with this one?

*

“Right, I’m heading home,” Martin says, poking his head in through the door to the office. “Are you finishing up soon?”

Jon looks up, and for a moment considers just telling Martin he’s almost done, and wishing him a good night. He can’t, though. He’s spent far too long preparing for this moment to be a coward about it now.

“Martin, could you, uh, come in for a moment? Shut the door?”

Martin gives him a look of concern and walks inside, closing the door carefully. He takes a seat across the desk from Jon.

“Is everything all right?” he asks. “Is it about Daisy?”

“Everything’s fine,” Jon says, “And no, it’s - not about Daisy. I was just - ”

His heart is pounding and his mouth is dry. He wishes he had some water. His face feels hot again and he’s sure Martin must notice. Martin is sitting patiently, looking at him with curiosity and a little worry. He needs to say something.

“I, ah - what are you doing this evening?” he manages to say in a rush. Martin squints thoughtfully.

“Nothing much,” he says. “I can stay, if you need help with something. It’s no problem. What are we working on - something to do with Dekker? A new statement, or - ”

“No, Martin,” Jon interrupts, because he has to get this out. “It’s - it’s nothing to do with Dekker, or a statement. I was just wondering if you’d - like to have dinner?”

Martin looks startled for about two seconds, and then his expression smoothes out into something flat and neutral. He gives a laugh, but it’s not his normal laugh. There’s a tight, strained note in it that Jon doesn’t like.

“Sure, that sounds nice,” Martin says, that tightness still there. “But you, uh, you want to be careful, Jon. Lunch and now dinner, people will get the wrong idea.”

His voice is bright with false joviality, and Jon frowns. He’s made a mess of this. His pulse is still racing and his mouth feels too dry to form words, but he has to, because this is important. Possibly the most important thing. He clears his throat.

“I, uh, don’t think they will, actually,” he says, shakily. “Martin, I am asking you out to dinner. With me. Asking you to go out with me.”

“Oh,” says Martin. His eyes have gone wide and soft, spots of color high in his cheeks. He stares at Jon for several long moments, his lips slightly parted. Jon stares back defiantly, because it’s out there now, and although he feels like he might pass out, he's glad it is.

“Yes,” says Martin. He sounds like he scarcely believes he’s saying it, and to be honest neither does Jon. His heart thuds painfully hard in his chest.

“Yes?” he says, “To, ah - ”

 _“Yes,_ Jon,” Martin repeats, and a shy smile spreads across his face. Jon feels himself mirroring it helplessly.

“Right,” he says, “That’s, uh, great! When do you want to - ”

“Now?” Martin suggests. Jon nods. That is a wonderful idea, honestly. The best idea he’s heard in ages.

“Great,” he says, “Let me just - ”

He starts tucking sheets of paper back into their folders, his hands shaking with adrenaline and his thoughts scattered. Gives it up after about thirty seconds, because he’s never going to file them correctly in his current state of mind and honestly what is he _thinking,_ worrying about filing when he’s about to go out for dinner with Martin. To go _out,_ with _Martin._ The thought practically catapults him out of his chair, and he grabs his coat. Martin is standing as well, and the way Martin’s looking at him makes Jon’s stomach do a slow flip.

“Right,” he says, “Should we go?”

Before Martin can say anything, the door behind him opens, and Basira is standing there. She looks tired and rumpled, wearing a coat and with a satchel slung across her shoulder. Her expression is determined, her mouth pressed into a firm line. She’s holding a thick manila folder in one hand.

“Basira?”

“Hi Jon,” she says, extending the folder towards him. “Daisy wanted me to give you this.”

“Daisy?” Martin exclaims. “Is she okay?”

“She’s okay,” Basira says grimly. “She almost wasn't, though. She came to find me. Got the Hunt under her skin. It was...close.”

“But she’s - all right?” Jon asks. Basira nods tightly.

“She will be. She won’t be in for a little while, though. Neither will I.” Basira hesitates, glances away and then back at Jon. “I did this because Daisy asked. But I’m going to try to be here more. Help out.”

“Thank you, Basira,” says Jon. The folder is heavy in his hand. Basira nods again.

“I’d better go,” she says. “Daisy’s waiting. I’ll be in touch.”

She turns on her heel and walks out, leaving Jon and Martin looking at each other. Jon’s fingers tighten minutely on the manila folder, and he feels it itching in the back of his mind, that urge to _know._ He places the folder carefully down on his desk, his fingers lingering on it a moment longer than they probably should, then turns back to Martin.

“Ready to go?” he says.

Martin is smiling at him, so warm and affectionate that Jon feels a flush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck.

“You _really_ want to look at it, don’t you?” Martin says. Jon starts to stutter a protest, but gives it up almost instantly. Martin knows him far too well for that.

“It can wait,” he says firmly. “I asked you out, so we’re going for dinner.”

“So I can sit and watch you wonder about the contents of a folder all night?” Martin teases. “I don’t think so. I’ll order some Chinese, and we can both look at it.”

“I - are you sure, Martin? This is important, but - not as much as you are. I don’t want to set us off on the wrong foot.”

“It’s fine,” says Martin. He drops his coat onto a chair and steps closer, until he’s standing right in front of Jon, still smiling very softly at him. “On one condition, though.”

“What’s that?” Jon asks hoarsely, his mouth gone dry again.

“You let me kiss you first,” Martin says. “I can handle postponing our first date, but I can’t wait for that _and_ our first kiss.”

“Right,” says Jon, scarcely able to breathe. “That, uh, seems very reasonable.”

“I thought you’d see it that way,” Martin says solemnly.

One hand comes up to cup Jon’s cheek, which is still flaming, and the other settles into the small of his back as Martin leans down to kiss him. It’s the first time Jon’s been kissed in a very long time, and he makes a horribly undignified and needy noise against Martin’s mouth, his hands grasping at Martin’s broad shoulders. The kiss is slow, and careful, and goes on for what seems like forever, but which Jon knows when they pull apart was definitely not long enough. Martin is flushed and soft-eyed, smiling at him in a giddy sort of way. Jon’s fairly sure his own expression is similar.

“That was, ah - ” Jon says, breathless.

“Yeah,” says Martin. “It definitely was.”

Martin fetches the food, and though Jon is too shot through with adrenaline to be hungry, he manages a few mouthfuls of chow mein for Martin’s sake. They sit on the floor of the Archives with the manila folder documents spread out around them. It’s basically everything on Adelard Dekker, aliases and associates, criminal records and recent movements. A current address in Woking, and even a phone number. Jon can scarcely believe it. The man who might be their key to understanding the Extinction, to _stopping_ it, and he’s thirty miles away.

“Looks like we need to make a trip to Surrey,” Jon muses.

“Is that a suggestion for our second date?” Martin asks, teasing.

His hand drifts across the pile of papers to rest over Jon’s, warm and solid. It’s entirely impractical, while they’re trying to sort through all these documents, but Jon doesn’t protest, just turns his palm up so they can lace their fingers together.

“I suppose it is,” he says. “Though I’m not sure tracking down a fugitive fear expert is exactly - romantic.”

“I think it counts for us,” Martin laughs, leaning in to brush a kiss against his cheek, and Jon really can’t argue with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. If you take the time to comment as well, that gives me life. Find me [@cuttoothed.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuttoothed)


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